Nothing is Routine, After All
by FreelyBeYourself
Summary: Chet has a bad day when a fire goes wrong. Plain and simply, this is a shameless h/c fic. Of course, I own nothing.


**Shameless h/c, in which Chet has a particularly bad day. Enjoy. I own nothing. Please feel free to drop a review. This is the first story I have written in months… I needed to write this to get back into practice, and thought I'd share the results, good or bad. Have a wonderful holiday season!**

 **Also, quick disclaimer: I'm neither a firefighter nor a paramedic, and I am sure I've made some mistakes here regarding both professions and how their respective jobs should be carried out. I apologize for that, but as this is a work of fiction and the show itself had its fair share of mistakes, please try not to judge me too harshly. I'm writing this for fun, not for perfection. Thanks!**

Almost before Mike had a chance to bring the Engine to a stop, I found myself standing from my seat and jumping from the back of the huge truck.

The fire was clearly out of control and _hot_ ; one look at the modest little house, or rather, what remained of it, told me that the structure was a complete loss and that this would be a mere formality. Containment only. My sight turned to the neighboring houses. The house to the left was far enough away, and upwind. We'd have to watch it, but I didn't think there was anything to worry about there. The house to the right was of far greater concern. The wind was blowing the flames dangerously close to the other house's attic.

Anticipating Cap's order, I pulled a hose.

"Chet, Marco, pull two inch-and-a-halves, and approach that fire from the right side of the house. We need to stop it from spreading."

I was already halfway across the lawn by the time Cap finished speaking. I didn't hear Cap's orders to Johnny and Roy, but from the corner of my eye I noticed that Roy had pulled another hose and attached it to the hydrant nearest to the house. Johnny didn't appear to be grabbing any of his medical equipment from the Squad. My heart sank as my fears were confirmed – the structure was too far gone, the blaze too hot and too involved, for anyone to have survived within the small house.

Marco quickly joined me, only a few seconds behind me in taking up a stable position and turning on his hose. Together we watched as water arced from the canvas hoses, but it was immediately apparent that this fire was not going to go out without a fight.

Although I knew that it couldn't be true, it looked as if the water wasn't touching the fire at all – it appeared as though the fire just raged on, evaporating the water from our hoses before it had a chance to land and put a dent in the massive blaze.

"Johnny," I hear the Captain yell, "Run next door and evacuate that house, just in case we have problems containing this."

 _Good idea,_ I thought, looking at the way the wind was still blowing the fire dangerously close to the house next door.

"LA, this is Engine 51. Respond me a full first alarm assignment. This structure is fully involved at this time and the wind is blowing the flames towards the neighboring houses."

"Engine 51", I heard dispatch acknowledge.

Marco and I held our ground, walking closer to the fire when it looked like we'd managed to beat back the flames a little bit. I barely felt the supporting hand that landed on my back, though I knew it was Cap's; Mike was still watching the water pressure in the hoses and Roy and Johnny were on the other side of the lawn, pointing their own hose at the house.

"Chet, Marco," the Captain's voice directed quietly, "We're getting this thing sort of controlled. When the other engines get here, I want the two of you to go around back and see what you can do back there. I'll have Engine 16 take over for you here."

"Right, Cap," Marco acknowledged, and I nodded my assent.

Right on cue, Engine 16 appeared, sirens blaring. Their Captain talked to our Captain, and before long two of 16's men were replacing us with hoses of their own. Marco and I dragged ours around to the back of the house, and sure enough, Cap's instincts were right: the back deck had also caught fire and clearly needed to be attended to sooner rather than later. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the owners of the house had left a propane tank for their gas grill over towards the side of the house; so far the tank had not exploded, but I knew that if we didn't get the fire tamed, it was only a matter of time.

With the other Engines there to help, it didn't take long at all before Captain Stanley, the incident commander, was able to call LA and declare the fire "under control". With the back deck taken care of and the house now a collapsed mess of smoldering wood, there wasn't much left to do except go through and turn the beams over and spray everything down to prevent the fire from rekindling. Captain Stanley let Engine 16 go, leaving just us to finish that job. It was no small task, but it was something we were well used to doing.

When I noticed a small fire that had popped up in one corner of what used to be the house, I didn't bother to call anyone over to help – it was a small thing, and I could easily handle it on my own.

What happened next was a rookie mistake that I will never live down for the rest of my career. Somehow, in the adrenaline rush of discovering this new fire, I developed tunnel vision. So focused was I on putting out the fire that I failed to notice what was actually burning. Had I realized that the burning beams were sitting right next to the propane tank I'd noticed earlier, I would never have gone over to fight the fire without help.

There was an explosion, bigger than one would think possible from such a small propane tank. There was a brief instant in which I could have sworn that I felt the shockwave, and then, before I had a chance to comprehend what was going on, I was thrown backwards through the air. I landed – hard – on my back about ten feet from where I'd been standing. I was stunned at this new turn of events, still not entirely sure what had even happened, or how it had happened so quickly. I sat up almost immediately, feeling and then immediately forgetting about the twinge of pain near my left shoulder blade.

"Chet!" Someone shouted my name. And then I was surrounded by my closest friends, five people kneeling in the mud beside me, each asking me what had happened and if I was okay. I was overwhelmed, and I wasn't sure who to answer first; I wasn't even entirely sure of the answers to their questions. So I sat, staring straight ahead at the remains of the propane tank, confused, as five pairs of hands grabbed at me. For some reason, the one thing about that moment that stood out to me the most was Mike's hand, and I blinked, unable to comprehend why he was not wearing gloves when everybody else was. I vaguely registered someone calling my name once again, but all I could think was that Mike must be crazy, going to a fire and not wearing gloves. What if he touched something hot or sharp?

And then, all of a sudden, reality kicked back in, and it finally clicked in my mind that there had been an explosion, and that I was now sitting in the mud a considerable distance from where I'd just been standing, and that of course Mike wasn't wearing gloves, because he was always manning the pressure gauges on the engine, and never actually touched a hose or went near the fire.

"Cap, call in a still alarm," Roy suggested, but Captain Stanly was already ahead of him and had pulled the HT to his mouth.

"Marco, Mike, we need to get this fire out," Cap said, realizing that the fire had rekindled in response to the explosion. I could tell that Captain Stanley was torn between staying to make sure that I was okay and going to put out the fire, but his sense of duty won out, and he took a few steps away. Mike cast a worried look in my direction and jogged back to the Engine; Marco muttered in Spanish, and it wasn't until he surreptitiously made the sign of the cross that I realized he was praying. The gesture shocked me, filling me with an unexpected feeling of warmth, and to my great embarrassment I felt tears well up in my eyes as I watched my best friend's retreating back. He picked up the hose I'd been forced to abandon.

"Gage, DeSoto, take care of him," Cap ordered with worry, and Roy nodded. Cap walked over to help Marco with the fire.

"Chet, do you hurt anywhere?" Johnny asked, pulling my attention back to him.

"Uh… no," I replied, and although I felt a small prickle on the back of my neck as if I'd just knowingly told a lie, I couldn't feel anything wrong, and couldn't remember feeling anything when I'd landed.

"No?"

"Nah, John, I'm fine, I'm just dazed is all. I think… I think that propane tank must have exploded…"

"Yeah," Roy muttered softly. "Look, do you think you can stand? The ground here is really muddy from the water from the hoses and it would be easier to examine you on dry ground."

"Oh, sure, Roy." I stood up, shaky on my feet, embarrassed when I took a step and swayed. The feeling passed as quickly as it had come on, and I shook my head. "Honestly, guys, I'm fine. I didn't even get hurt. I was just caught off guard, that's all."

"Well, let's just make sure, all right?" Johnny said, trying to be reasonable. I sighed, casting a glance at Cap – there'd be no way he'd let me get out of a trip to the hospital ("just to be safe," he'd say) – and anyway, I knew that if I put up an argument, I'd only end up getting latrine duty. Again.

"All right, but I'm telling you, this is a waste of time. I'm fine. It was a small little explosion."

"Which threw you ten feet," Roy reminded me with a gentle smile. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing that the guys were only fussing because they cared. That made the situation better, although I was loathe to admit it. I think I would have been more upset if they hadn't reacted at all.

"Yeah, yeah…"

They assisted me the last twenty feet to the squad (although, as I kept muttering, I didn't need any help). Johnny helped me sit down in front of the red vehicle while Roy pulled the biophone and drug box from their compartment.

"Here, Chet, let's, uh… Let's take off your turnout coat." I moved to unbutton my coat, but Johnny, as I'd seen him do with numerous victims before, beat me to it, not wanting me to exert myself until he assured himself that there was nothing wrong with me. I felt my cheeks turn red with embarrassment; I was a grown adult and I could surely remove my own jacket. But when I saw the genuine concern on Gage's face, I couldn't help but realize that he wasn't doing it because he didn't think I was capable. It dawned on me that he probably knew that I was not hurt; that this process was as much to reassure the rest of the gang as it was to reassure me.

Finally armed with the drug box, Johnny pulled out a stethoscope and draped it around his neck as Roy set up the biophone and made contact with Rampart.

"Rampart, this is Rescue 51," the blonde paramedic called. There was silence. "Rampart, Rescue five-one."

I was distracted from Roy's conversation with the hospital by the fingers that caught my hand and then pressed against the inside of my wrist. Shifting my eyes to Johnny, I half listened to Roy while I watched the dark-haired man's face. He stared intently at his watch, once glancing up and meeting my gaze. He offered me a reassuring smile, but I could still see the worry in his eyes. I wished I could skip this part and convince them that I was okay without the theatrics. This was awkward.

"Rampart, we have a Code-I at this location – 34-year-old male. He was thrown backwards about ten feet when a propane tank exploded in front of him. He was dazed and confused at first but is now conscious and coherent and does not appear to bleeding or have any broken bones. Vitals to follow. Rampart, be advised that the victim is Chet Kelly."

"Roy, the pulse is 90," Johnny interjected. I watched as Roy jotted that down in his notebook, feeling slightly surprised that my heart rate was as high as it was. Then again, I thought, I had just had a huge adrenaline rush. "Respirations are about 14."

I watched as John wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm, trying not to make eye contact with either paramedic. It wasn't that I didn't trust them; of course I trusted them with my life. It was just… how could I, Chet Kelly, a veteran firefighter, make such a rookie mistake? Roy, however, read this in my expression.

"What happened, Chet?" he asked. I frowned.

"It was the stupidest thing," I grumbled. "I saw the fire but I never noticed the propane tank." I flushed bright red as I realized the idiocy of my statement. Of course I had seen the propane tank; it was the first thing I noticed when Cap sent us around back. I had just somehow forgotten about it when I saw the smaller fire pop up.

"Chet," Roy sighed. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's happened to all of us at some point."

"Yeah," I said, a little too sarcastically, as Roy sighed again. Thankfully he let it drop, and Johnny pretended not to have heard the exchange.

"Here," Roy said, pulling his penlight from his pocket, "Let me look at your pupils." It didn't take long. "Pupils equal and reactive," he told John. Then, to me: "That's a good sign."

"Blood pressure is a little elevated compared to normal… 125/85," John told Roy, sitting back on his heels. Roy nodded.

"Rampart, this is Rescue 51. We have the vitals on the Code-I. The pulse is 90. The respirations are 14. Blood pressure is 125/85, and the pupils are equal and reactive."

"51," I recognized Dr. Bracket's voice, "Has there been any change in level of consciousness?"

"Negative, Rampart. He appeared dazed when the explosion first occurred, but quickly regained awareness and has maintained the same level of awareness since."

"Roy, is he in any sort of pain or discomfort?" Bracket asked. Roy looked at me expectantly. I shook my head as Captain Stanley walked over.

"Negative, Rampart."

"51, it sounds as though he was just dazed, but we'd like for you to bring him in just in case. Continue to monitor vitals and transport non-code R."

"Ten-four, Rampart. Monitor vitals and transport non-code R. ETA is about fifteen minutes."

"Ten-four, fifty-one."

"See, I told you I was fine," I couldn't resist saying. Cap glared at me and I didn't open my mouth again.

"Let us know, huh, Roy, Johnny?" Cap asked. Gage and DeSoto nodded.

"Roy, you wanna ride with him in the ambulance?" Johnny asked as the vehicle pulled up to the curb.

"Yeah, that's fine. Will you grab my stuff?" Johnny just nodded as Roy helped the ambulance attendants lift me onto a stretcher. Again I felt my face burn red. This really was humiliating.

"Hey, fellas, this is a non-emergent run… we can transport non-code R," Roy said.

"Right," the ambulance driver nodded, and then the stretcher that I was now lying on was lifted into the air and loaded none too gently into the back of the ambulance. Roy climbed in and sat on the seat beside me. As we pulled away from the curb, habit caused Roy to ignore me and put his stethoscope in his ears. I sighed and stared at the ceiling as the cuff tightened around my arm. Roy grunted softly, catching my attention; I turned to look at him.

"Roy?" I asked, when he started checking my blood pressure for a second time.

Roy looked up at me, looking thoughtful, as he looped his stethoscope casually around his neck. He didn't speak as he checked my pulse. It was only when he'd written these new measurements down and pulled out his pen light that he cleared his throat.

"Your vitals are still off. Let me just check your eyes again…" He shone his light into my eyes, and I flinched in annoyance, trying to remind myself that it wasn't his fault that I was stupid enough to get myself blown halfway across someone's backyard.

"Pupils are still normal, though." Roy sighed, sitting back and surveying me. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze and I shifted a little in the stretcher. "Chet, what happened?" It was the second time that he'd asked me, and I frowned, wondering what he was getting at.

"Cap sent Marco and I around to the back. The deck was on fire and we put it out… I noticed a propane tank, but I guess I forgot about it." I sighed loudly. "What a stupid mistake. You know, Roy, in the entire decade that I've been a firefighter, I've never had anything like this happen to me."

"Well," Roy sighed, "Like I said before, it's happened to all of us at some point. Don't worry about it, Chet. It's not the end of the world."

"Yeah, but it'll look great on my permanent record, though, when Cap writes it up," I grimaced. "I can see it now, Roy… they'll be teaching the next group of firefighters and they're going to use this incident as a prime example of what _not_ to do."

"Maybe not," Roy said. "Look, you're making a bigger deal of it than it really is. People expect us to be superheroes, but we're still human, you know, and we make mistakes. It happens."

"Yeah," I muttered. "Still, it shouldn't happen to someone like me."

"Yeah," Roy agreed, "That's what we all say, when it happens to us."

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. Roy, without much to do, settled for resting his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. I lay on the stretcher watching him, noticing how tired he looked. I wondered if everything was okay at home. It wasn't a particularly busy shift for the Squad, and I couldn't imagine why he was so exhausted. I frowned again at the ceiling. I knew how close all of us at Station 51 were, and I knew that I had scared Roy by being so careless. I felt bad. Even as I looked closer, I noticed a gray hair on the blonde man's head – one that I had never seen before, and the sight of it surprised me.

I thought ahead to the future. Where would we all be in ten, fifteen years? Would the six of us still be friends? Some of us would likely leave the fire department; others would probably be promoted… would any of us still be working at Station 51? Would any of us still be together?

Would one of us make a stupid mistake that would leave someone dead or permanently off the job?

Would that person be me?

I startled from my reverie as I felt the ambulance jolt to a stop, then begin to back in at the hospital. I groaned out loud, startling Roy, who gave me a worried look. Before he could ask me whether I was okay or not, I shook my head.

"Sorry, Roy. I just don't like hospitals."

"Nobody likes hospitals," Roy told me, giving me what I was sure was supposed to be an encouraging smile. I sighed.

"This is embarrassing," I muttered softly, and as soon as I'd said it, I hoped Roy hadn't heard me – but, of course he had. He frowned.

"What's embarrassing about it?" he asked, leaning in and staring intently at me. I shook my head and looked away.

"This. This whole thing is embarrassing," I said. "I shouldn't be here at all. First I make a stupid mistake, then I have to come into the hospital on a stretcher while everyone stares at me like I'm a freak show, and then they'll tell me it's all for nothing and that I'm perfectly healthy. It's going to be so embarrassing walking back into that station later and seeing everyone's worried looks. It's all so unnecessary, Roy. If only I'd been more attentive and not made such a dumb mistake. I'm not some green trainee, you know."

The ambulance came to a stop. It was only a few seconds before the back doors were opened, and then I found my stretcher being lifted out. As I was wheeled into the hospital, I caught Roy giving me an almost pitying look. I closed my eyes as two young men walked by, both staring at me, trying to see what was wrong. I always hated that part. Thankfully it wasn't long before I was brought into an exam room and the door was closed. Roy and the two ambulance attendants transferred me to the exam table with an efficiency that you'd almost have to see to believe. A few seconds later, Johnny and Dixie McCall walked in.

"Hey there, Chet," Dixie smiled, and I offered her a small smile in return. Of all the nurses in the hospital, Dixie was my favorite; they were all very respectful and very competent, but Dixie had a way of making you feel somewhat more important than the other nurses did. It was nice, in an atmosphere where your privacy was invaded and the medical procedures made you feel sort of silly, to be made to feel as though you still had some sort of dignity.

"Good afternoon, Ms. McCall," I replied. She smiled.

"Well, you don't look hurt," she said. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" Obviously she already knew the answer, as she was carrying a chart, and in the brief second that she held it in my view when she took my pulse, I recognized the same notes that Roy had relayed over the biophone.

"I tried to tell them I didn't need to come in, but nobody would take no for an answer," I grumbled, only half faking my annoyance. Dixie smiled again.

"Chet, now, you know Cap wouldn't have let you go without getting cleared by the hospital," Johnny cut in, and I sighed. Yes, I did know that. "Besides, you should have seen it. You were thrown backwards like a ragdoll in a toddler's temper tantrum."

 _Gee, thanks, Gage_ , I thought.

"Well, at least I'll have a story to tell," I sighed. And wasn't that the truth? I berated myself mentally as I once more thought over my stupidity in forgetting about such an important fact as the existence of a propane tank next to a fire.

Dixie opened her mouth to say something, but never got that far; Dr. Early walked in at that moment.

"Johnny, Roy," he greeted his favorite paramedics, then he turned to me.

"Hello, Chet. Back so soon?"

"Not by choice, Doc," I emphasized. It had only been a month since I'd last had to come into the hospital; that one wasn't my fault, thankfully. I'd needed stitches after being cut during a brush fire by a jagged piece of metal that had been haphazardly been discarded on the ground by some hikers.

Dr. Early got the message.

"Well, let's see what we can do about getting you out of here." I largely zoned out as the usual tests were run; a quick check of the reflexes, another tedious moment of being forced to stare straight ahead while a bright light was shone in my eyes; at least one set of vital signs. A portable x-ray was brought in and I obligingly sat still while they took pictures of my skull, and then Roy, Johnny and I were left alone to wait for the test results (which Dr. Early had, thankfully, demanded to be rushed).

"Are you sure you feel okay, Chet?" Johnny asked, and I startled when I noticed he'd been staring at me.

"Yeah, babe. Why?"

"It's just, you seemed a little preoccupied."

"Oh," I said. "Eh, you know, I really just don't like being here, is all. There's something unsettling about the whole thing."

"Man, I know what you mean," Johnny said, and if I was being entirely honest with myself, he of all people probably knew exactly what I meant. "It's like they strip you of your…"

"Pride. Dignity," I said.

"Yeah. Even if they don't mean to do it, there's something about the doctors asking you how much pain you're in and if you're sure you really need medication… it just makes you feel sort of dumb," Johnny said emphatically.

"Exactly," I agreed.

Dr. Early chose that moment to come back in, x-rays in hand. I listened carefully as he explained that everything looked mostly normal, but that I was supposed to come back immediately if I got a headache or felt nauseous. I nodded along in agreement.

"Don't worry, Doc, we'll watch him," Roy reassured Dr. Early. The gray-haired man paused thoughtfully.

"You know, that's true. I'm still a little concerned because even though all of the tests came back normal, his vitals are still a little off. Normally I'd be worried about letting him go without an explanation as to why his heart rate is still high, but since I couldn't find anything wrong and you two will be there, I think it'll be okay to let him go back to the station. Hey, just check on him again in a few hours, alright?"

"Sure thing, Doc," Johnny agreed. Dr. Early turned to me.

"Now, look, Chet, I just want to reiterate that you _were_ in an explosion. In all likelihood you're perfectly okay, and you know I'd never let you go if I had any reason to suspect that you weren't. But still, I want you to take it easy for the rest of your shift. Don't give Johnny and Roy any trouble. If anything feels wrong, I want you to tell one of them immediately and come back here, alright?"

"I promise, Doc," I agreed.

Less than ten minutes later, I was walking out the door with Roy and John. For once, I didn't even mind being squished between the two of them in the Squad.

"Well, I know one thing," Johnny commented, "I'm sure glad that it's not your turn to cook, Chet. I'm starving."

"Yeah," I agreed. The ride back to the station was uneventful. I half expected the Squad to get called out, but except for the one fire this afternoon, it had been an almost boring day. That trend looked to continue through dinner. Or so I hoped.

We pulled back into the station at around five in the afternoon, just in time for an early dinner. I hoped that Stoker had already started cooking; if not, it was going to be a long evening.

Marco was waiting for me, sitting on the side of the engine. Johnny and Roy waved hello and goodbye, and left us alone to talk. I sighed, going to stand by my best friend, leaning my weight against Big Red.

"Chet, are you okay?" Marco asked, and I thought back to the fire, and remembered how I'd seen him praying when he'd thought no one was looking.

"I'm fine, Marco. I just can't believe how stupid I was."

"Aw, Chet, it happens to everyone," Marco reassured me, unknowingly echoing Roy's words. I nodded, although I still couldn't believe that I had let it happen to me.

"Maybe, Marco, but it shouldn't be happening to someone who's been a fireman for as long as I have," I said.

"Chet, it can happen to anyone," Marco repeated, quite forcefully. I flinched. "Look, remember a few months ago when I fell through the floor of that building because I was too stupid to notice the gaping hole right there?"

He had me backed into a corner on that one.

"Yeah," I sighed, and I was forced to admit that Marco's mistake had been a fairly inexcusable one.

"See, we all make dumb mistakes. In the heat of the moment, these things happen. They shouldn't, and it doesn't make sense why a veteran firefighter like you or I has to live with the consequences. Honestly, if you ask me, I think we just get careless. We're so sure that we know what we're doing, that we don't bother to check to make sure we're doing it right. It's not like when we're brand new and still trying to impress the team, you know?"

I had to admit, what he was saying made sense.

"Yeah, but still. Marco, do you know how dumb it was for me to see the propane tank, and then not remember that it was there?"

"Chet, I saw it, too, and I didn't try to back you up when that smaller fire started," Marco said. "I should have, but I didn't. It was my mistake, too."

"I'm just so embarrassed about this. The Cap's going to chew me out."

"Probably," Marco sighed. "He already, er, _talked_ to me about it."

I winced, "Ouch. Sorry, pal. That's my fault." Marco shrugged off my apology. I looked up when I heard footsteps. Cap looked over at us as he walked from the kitchen past the Squad to his office, giving us both a once-over with his eyes.

"Kelly, my office," Captain Stanley said, confirming my fear. I groaned under my breath.

"Yes, sir." I climbed down from the Engine, following Cap despondently into his office.

"Close the door, Kelly." I did as I was asked. "Sit." Again, I did as the Captain asked.

Cap and I sat silently for a few seconds, him staring at me and me staring at the floor. Finally, the other man sighed, and I looked up.

"Chet, first and foremost… are you okay?" I was startled at the amount of concern in my Captain's voice. I knew he cared for his men, but I was surprised that he was letting it show as much as he was. Again, to my intense embarrassment, my eyes welled with unwanted tears, and I looked back at the floor.

"Yes, sir, I'm fine."

Captain Stanley continued to stare silently at me. Finally, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I snapped.

"Sir, please, just yell at me and get it over with," I begged. Cap frowned.

"I don't think I need to tell you that what you did was careless," he stated softly, somehow managing to sound both reassuring and reprimanding at the same time. I flinched, accepting the chastisement.

"No, sir," I said, forcing myself to make eye contact so that he could see my sincerity. Captain Stanley nodded thoughtfully.

"I know you're a perfectly competent firefighter, Chet. And I know that what happened today was just a fluke. It won't happen again." This, too, was both a reprimand and a promise. I flinched, understanding the unspoken order and threat. "Look. When there's a small fire like that, we all tend to rush into things and try to put it out on our own. But the moral of this story is that there's no fire too small to ask for help. The work we do is dangerous. Even something that seems small can easily become something more than it appears. That's why there are six of us. We're supposed to back each other up."

"Yes, sir."

"Next time you come upon a fire that nobody else has noticed, I want you to call for help. It's better to be too safe and ask for help with something simple, than to stay silent and end up getting thrown ten feet onto the ground."

"Yes, sir," I muttered, humiliated that Cap felt the need to have this conversation with someone who had been a firefighter for fourteen years.

"Besides… I hate having to file paperwork when one of my men is injured," Cap said, but I read between the lines and knew that he wasn't really saying that at all. Rather, he was trying, in his own way, to tell me that I mattered to him, and that he didn't want to see me get hurt. I nodded my understanding. "That being said," Cap sighed, "I won't be putting this into the official report. The log is going to say that the propane tank exploded and you were thrown back, but I'm not going to mention your… er… mistake."

"Thanks, Cap," I said, genuinely relieved. That would have looked really bad on my permanent record. Cap nodded.

"Go on then, Kelley. Take a shower and grab something to eat." I rose, making my way to the door.

"Oh, and Chet?"

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Next time, I won't be able to leave it off the report."

"Yes, Cap." I swallowed, pausing in the doorway, and felt the need to add, "There won't be a next time, Cap." I watched my boss take that in, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

"I know, Kelly. I know."

Knowing that I'd gotten off easy, I left the Captain's office, making my way silently over to the locker room. Johnny was waiting, anticipating that I'd head for the showers.

"Chet," the young paramedic said softly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, John."

Desperately hoping we wouldn't get called out on another run, and not caring that Gage was in the room watching me, I unbuttoned my uniform shirt, which had thankfully survived the incident unharmed. I pulled my white undershirt off and folded it, leaving it on the bench in front of my locker. As I turned towards the mirror, I heard a sharp intake of breath from John.

"What?" I asked, becoming defensive when I saw him staring intently at me _. "What?"_

"Chet, you're bruised," Gage said with some alarm. I frowned, turning to look at my back in the mirror, having to twist at an awkward angle to do so. Gage was right; there was some bruising, and it looked fairly ugly. Interestingly enough, as soon as I saw the bruise, I became aware of a dull but intense ache in my back muscles behind my left shoulder. It was only at that moment that I realized I'd first felt this same pain in the moments after the explosion.

"Well, I'm not especially surprised," I said, the words sounding hollow as I tried not to let on that I was in any discomfort. "I did land fairly hard."

"I'll say," Johnny muttered, so quietly that I almost didn't hear. I could see the paramedic in him itching to say something, so I quickly stripped off the rest of my clothes and got into the shower to prevent any more conversation. Thankfully we were not called out on a run, and I was able to take a longer shower than I usually would have.

Everyone was gathered around the table for dinner by the time I finally got dressed. I took my place at the table, ignoring the subtle glances of my fellow shift mates. One glance over at Cap told me that Gage had ratted on me. The snitch. Conversation quickly turned to the coming off day, and everyone went on and on about their plans for the day. I zoned out. The pain in my shoulder was getting worse now that I was thinking about it, and I was pretty sure I'd be too stiff to move properly in a few hours. It would be interesting trying to explain that to the Cap, especially when I'd already sworn that I wasn't hurt.

"Kelly? Kelly!" I heard, and I looked up, surprised to find that everyone had abandoned all thoughts of food and was staring at me in concern.

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"Marco asked what your plans were for your day off. You didn't answer. We've been trying to get your attention for half a minute, pal," Cap said, and I mentally cursed as I realized I'd worried my Captain.

"Sorry, guys, I was just thinking," I justified. I watched as Roy, Marco, and Cap all exchanged a look.

"Maybe you should let Roy and Johnny check you out," Mike said, surprising us all. I cringed. If Mike made a suggestion, it was always taken seriously.

"No, really, guys, I'm fine," I tried, knowing that the pain I was now feeling would mandate _another_ trip to the hospital, but Cap nodded at Mike.

"Good idea, and besides, pal, DeSoto told me that Rampart ordered that you be checked over again, anyway. It's been over an hour since you got back; it's about time, I'd say."

Roy and John rose without further comment, John making his way out into the apparatus bay, and Roy raising his eyebrow at me expectantly.

"We'll do this in the dorm," he said, letting everyone know that they weren't to follow, and I appreciated the privacy. Reluctantly I rose to my feet, following Roy slowly into the apparatus bay. John was just gathering the last of the equipment. He followed us into the dorm. I hesitated, not wanting to submit to this.

"Chet… this is going to have to happen one way or another. We can do it here or we can take you to the hospital, and either way is fine, but you're going to have to choose."

I stared Roy down, finally breaking eye contact with a sigh. I knew in that moment that any thought of hiding my now obvious injury would be out of the question; Roy obviously already knew. Leave it to Gage…

"Oh, alright. Here, then." I sat down on my bed as Roy and John glanced at each other. Roy crouched down on the floor in front of me and opened the drug box while Johnny, still observing me carefully, placed two fingers gently against the pulse point on my neck.

"Pulse is down to normal," he told Roy. Roy nodded.

"Alright. Want to check his pupils?"

Johnny did just that.

"Pupils are normal," he said, sounding relieved. I had to admit, I was kind of relieved, too.

"Alright…" Roy raised an eyebrow expectantly at me. "Chet, what's this that Johnny tells me about you having bruises on your back?"

"John…" I grumbled, but the threat was lost in the defeated tone of my voice.

"Chet, you could have been seriously injured," Johnny told me. "We just want to make sure you're okay, see?"

I sighed.

"Okay. I'll cooperate."

"You're going to need to take off your shirt so we can see the damage," Roy informed me. I sighed, flinching in slight discomfort as I unbuttoned my uniform shirt and pulled it off. I struggled to remove the undershirt, but finally managed, leaving Roy and John to let out distinct gasps of disbelief.

"Chet, are you sure you didn't feel this before?"

"No, Roy, I felt it for the first time when I got back here."

I sighed, exhausted. For such a boring day at work, it really had me drained. The last thing I wanted to do was make another trip to the hospital, but I knew the drill. I tensed up as Johnny reached down, expecting him to grab the biophone to call Rampart. Instead, he merely scratched his knee.

"We're going to do something that is a little out of protocol," Roy said decisively after seeing the look on my face. I looked up, hopeful. "We're not going to make you go to the hospital – yet – because to tell you the truth, I really don't think there's anything the hospital can do for you that you can't do for yourself."

"The one condition is that you are going to sit here and rest and not work for the rest of the shift. I'll tell the Captain," Johnny told me.

"But, Chet, this is very much a risk, because if you do end up being severely hurt, it's on us," Roy impressed upon me the seriousness of the situation.

"So if you feel any other symptoms – anything at all – you're to tell us immediately, okay?" Johnny continued. I agreed; I may be willing to do just about anything to get out of a trip to the hospital, but I wasn't about to get some of my best friends into trouble.

"Okay," the two paramedics agreed simultaneously. Almost as if by some unspoken pact, they each sat down on their beds opposite my own. None of us said anything, but it suddenly hit me that these men were genuine, true friends, and that maybe they were more than that, even. They didn't seem put out to be babysitting me, or annoyed at my rookie mistake; in fact, in the hospital, they'd done nothing except worry for my safety. It dawned on me in a jolt of surprise that maybe, just maybe, they felt the same way for me as I felt for them _. Brothers_ , the word came to my mind. With this newfound revelation, I felt myself relax, the tension draining from my body as I laid down and started to let myself drift into a much-needed sleep.

I smiled as I accepted that maybe my small mistake at the fire hadn't really meant that much, after all. Besides, it would never happen again.

 **The End…?**

 _The plot bunnies are coming out in droves. This story will be a stand-alone, however… I see a lot of points in here which I may develop further in a future story. Suggestions are welcome, of course._


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